A Comedy Of (Human) Errors
by Resrie71
Summary: John is back at Baker Street and Sherlock comes up with a plan to get things rolling between them. Making John jealous sounds like a good idea, right?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The situation was intolerable. As a Holmes, intellect was to be prized above all else. Self control. Discipline. Sherlock had certainly never had any issue in these areas. Before. Now his life had to be bisected into Before and After.

Before! Ah, those were the days! Cool intellect, lightning fast deductions, always deducing and the rush of pleasure in finding out he was _right_, regardless of the impact on other's feelings. Donovan and Anderson were his favorite guinea pigs in that area, although they were hardly a challenge for someone like him.

Before, nothing was muddied up with feelings, fears of consequences, worries over anyone else's approval.

Now, however, on the _After_ side of the line, nothing was so simple. After was, of course, After falling for John Watson.

Initially, meeting John hadn't been particularly shattering. He was nice, in a bland sort of way. As an army doctor, he had to be reasonably intelligent. Having a doctor on site could be quite handy for dealing with the scrapes he occasionally got himself into. He was likely to accept the offer of a flatshare as he obviously had quite limited means. It was also unlikely that he would make many demands, being so financially precarious.

Even with these probabilities in mind, Sherlock was somewhat surprised when John actually showed up to see the flat after being deduced so thoroughly in front of his friend. He could tell from John's reaction, that Mike really hadn't warned him about the type of person he was going to meet. He was further pleased when John didn't even blink about his help with Mr. Hudson's demise. It had taken only the slightest nudge to get the doctor to accompany him to the crime scene.

Lauriston Gardens had been a revelation. Where the Yarders and even Lestrade would balk at his deductions, John merely accepted that Sherlock was right, and _praised_. That Mycroft had been unable to dissuade him, further spoke in his favor. Was there a downside to this man at all?

Ah yes, the downside. There John was, at Angelo's, asking if Sherlock was _available._ That would never do. The man needed to understand that nothing could be permitted to distract him from the Work. Sherlock turned him down politely, but firmly.

And therein lie the problem.

Somewhere in the hazy time between Before and After, John had become Important. Not just important, Essential. A distraction, and yet not. His absence was, if possible, more distracting than his presence.

At the pool, for the first time Sherlock was truly afraid that he might lose John. Yes, the Chinese gangsters had been dangerous, but the crossbow had been pointed at _Sarah_, not John. After the pool, Sherlock had been forced to acknowledge John's importance, to even allow that he _cared_ for John.

When he planned the Fall, he knew John would be upset. His own tears during their rooftop phone call had surprised him. Amazingly, it hurt him to know that he would be hurting John. It was a wonder he had actually been able to make himself step off the rooftop. Only knowing the true danger John was in gave him the courage to do it.

Hearing John's broken voice, feeling his hands clutching at him, knowing his despair; it was a minor miracle that Sherlock didn't sit up and embrace his friend. Soothe him. Kiss away his fears.

Because that was the truth. Somewhere along the line, Sherlock had fallen in love with John Watson. Only then, when it was far too late, did Sherlock finally accept it.

For the two years he was away, he learned repeatedly how much he had taken John for granted. He couldn't have a cup of tea without thinking of warm smiles and soft jumpers. Better to stop drinking tea than torture himself like that. Whenever he met anyone named John (a disgustingly common name) he could feel his pulse jump, until his traitorous feelings could be convinced that it wasn't _his_ John. So he stopped learning anyone's name. He learned the hard way that no one had his back anymore, at least no one he could trust, so he nearly developed a spasm in his neck from twisting suddenly to see if he was being followed.

It never should have taken so long. He had thought three months, six at the most. These two years had taught him something important. Caring _was_ an advantage. If not for the all consuming need to keep John safe, to return to him, he'd have given up many times over.

When he was finally on his way back to London, he had his first cup of tea in nearly two years.

The events following his return were anticlimactic to say the least. John had moved on. Sherlock wasn't angry with him for doing so. How could he have expected him to wait? It had been easy for Sherlock to do so; he knew John was alive and no one else had ever appealed to him. Simple. John however, had no idea that Sherlock was alive or cared for him in a romantic manner.

If the only way he could have a relationship with John was to remain friends with him, then that would have to do. He would never let John doubt his importance again.

And then everything unfolded with Mary. John forgiving her at Christmas had been hard for Sherlock to accept, but she was his wife, and she was carrying his child. And then John surprised him, yet again.

While Mary was in recovery after her c-section, John had arranged for a paternity test. When the results came back, the baby wasn't his. He told Sherlock later, that the date for the conception hadn't worked out and he had been suspicious once he had had time to think about it.

John had shown up at 221B with two suitcases and the announcement that no divorce was necessary because Mary had married him under an assumed name.

Just like that. John was back at the flat.

Now what?

Sherlock had turned John down quite firmly years ago. He had seen no sign since that John had any interest whatsoever in men. He could not risk John being upset if his male flatmate made unwanted advances towards him. There had been the stag night, but John had been quite intoxicated at the time. In that state he may have shown an attraction to _anyone, _Anderson even.

There was also the issue that John was just coming out of a failed marriage to an assassin. Not the greatest timing for his previously uninterested flatmate to start hitting on him. How could he find out if John could ever be interested in him? Easy answer. He couldn't. Unless John made the first move...and that would never happen. Or could it?

A plan began to form in Sherlock's mind.

~0~0~0~0~0~

John woke from the first restful night's sleep he'd had in ages. Waking up in his room at Baker Street, with no thought of ever having to leave again hanging over his head, was glorious.

He had stayed here for awhile when Sherlock was recovering after his collapse, but he had known he still had to deal with his wife. Whether she had meant to kill him or not, shooting Sherlock was unforgivable. People died from less grievous wounds all the time. She had seen how badly he was affected by Sherlock's 'death'. That she would have subjected him to that all over again, when John had just gotten him back, no, that was beyond forgiving.

But she was carrying his child. He could easily see _this_ Mary using his child as a pawn. Nothing remained but for him to play nice until a paternity test could be done without raising her suspicions.

When it came back that the baby wasn't his, John felt an enormous weight lift off of his shoulders. Mary was no longer his concern. No matter how determined she was to keep him, she had nothing with which to hold him anymore. Her cover was blown and any action she could possibly take against either him or Sherlock would bring the full might of the British Government down upon her. It was done. Over.

John stretched lazily and contemplated getting out of bed. There was nothing that could make this anymore perfect. Well, accept...but there was no point in wishing for the impossible. There was no way that Sherlock could possibly return his feelings, he just didn't _do _sentiment.

Throughout their association before Sherlock's 'death', John had known that Sherlock was his best friend. Even best friend really didn't cover it. It was more than that. Sherlock had saved his life the day they met. That morning, before going for a walk in the park, John had stared at the drawer containing his gun. When he had opened the drawer to get his laptop out, his eyes had fixed on the dark metal gleaming up at him.

That fact that he had nothing whatsoever to write in his blog just brought home to him that he was really nothing more than a waste of oxygen. If he hadn't run into Mike, hadn't met Sherlock that day, there was no doubt in John's mind that he would have been dead by the end of the week. If it had even taken that long.

There really wasn't a word to describe someone who saved your life simply by giving it meaning again. At the wedding, Sherlock had said that John had saved his life so many times and in so many ways, but John wondered if Sherlock knew that the reverse was true as well. Sherlock had cured his limp, depression, and boredom all in one fell swoop. Sherlock wasn't his best friend, he was a bloody miracle.

Seeing Sherlock fall had broken him. The days and weeks after were all a blur. It was only a few months later that he realized he was grieving for much more than the loss of a friend. He realized that he would have given literally _anything_ to have Sherlock back. To hold him and tell him that he believed in him. To hold him and never let him go again.

John had a hard time pinpointing exactly when his feelings for Sherlock had changed. The case with Irene Adler had nearly driven him 'round the twist, but he wasn't sure he was jealous at that point. He had been worried for Sherlock, especially over his reaction to her 'death'. It was probably during the Baskerville case, when Sherlock had said that he didn't have 'friends'. The pain that lanced through him at that moment had been way too intense to just be anger over Sherlock being a drama queen. Hell, once he had apologized the next day, John had hardly even gotten irked over Sherlock admitting that he had tried to drug him. If that wasn't love, what was?

After that, so much happened so quickly. And the timing when the bugger came back! Talk about priceless! Popping up while he was trying to propose to Mary. They'd only been going together for about six months, if he'd had any clue….Well, he'd have spared himself the agony of the last two years at least.

Sherlock was back. John was back at Baker Street and he certainly wasn't going to let go of the relationship he had with Sherlock now. Sherlock wasn't interested in relationships, but John vowed he was never going to let his friend down again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

What a day. A twelve hour shift at the surgery, he'd had barely time to choke down a sandwich roughly eight hours ago, and being vomited on no less than four times by various flu patients. John was ready to shower, order take away, and pass out while watching crap telly with Sherlock. He was thoroughly exhausted and not up to much of anything. At this rate he'd be lucky if he didn't fall asleep waiting for dinner to arrive.

He opened the door into the kitchen and was possessed of the urge to turn around and make sure he had come in the right flat. The kitchen was clean. Sparkling. He could operate on the table if necessary. Although first you'd have to move the two formal place settings, bud vase with a single rose, and candle. A candlelight dinner? John's heart began to pound…

"John?"

John raised his eyes to see Sherlock striding toward him, impeccably dressed, holding a glass of red wine...and behind him was...who?

"I'd like you to meet David Cavanaugh, and old friend from uni. I bumped into him today at my tailor's and, well, we decided on dinner tonight. David, this is my flatmate, John Watson."

Flatmate? He didn't even rate a 'friend' introduction anymore? On autopilot, John extended his hand and took in the Adonis that was David Cavanaugh.

He was, if possible, slightly taller than Sherlock, and just as dark as Sherlock was pale. His olive skin gleamed in the low lighting and his thick jet black hair had just the slightest wave to it as it fell elegantly to his shoulders. Amidst all of this was a pair of the most shockingly green eyes he had even seen. They had to be contacts, they just had to be. Where Sherlock was whipcord lean, David was muscular without quite approaching body builder size. When David smiled, his perfect, even, white teeth fairly leapt out at you, like something out of Johnny Bravo.

But the most disturbing thing, was how Sherlock's eyes followed David's every movement, like a caress. Between that and the 'flatmate' introduction, John had never felt like more of a third wheel. He plastered what he hoped was a smile on his completely numb face.

"Pleasure to meet you, David. I hope you'll excuse me, had an exhausting day, and am really looking forward crashing out."

"Are you sure you won't join us? I could set another place at the table…" Sherlock's tone was doubtful.

"No, no, I'm just really tired." John turned stiffly and strode from the room in what he hoped wasn't too rude of a manner.

"Rest well," called David as John headed up the stairs. God, even the man's voice was beautiful.

John collapsed on his bed and just sat there. Staring at the floor. What the hell was that? Sherlock had a date? It was obviously a date. He couldn't even console himself with the idea that Sherlock wasn't aware of the romantic nature of the situation. His attention was totally on David, his body oriented toward David's the whole time. Sherlock not only knew this was a date, he was undeniably attracted to David.

And who could blame him? John certainly didn't look his best tonight, but even at his best, next to David he was nothing more than a short, aging, nobody. The two of them looked absolutely striking together, a study in contrasts. John was certainly a contrast, but not in any sort of favorable way! Even in his most fit Army days of fifteen years ago, he never would have compared to David Cavanaugh. Most assuredly now, at forty, he was particularly pathetic.

He stripped, put on sweats and a t-shirt and climbed into bed. As drained as he was, he didn't for one moment think he was going to sleep anytime soon.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Lying in his bed, alone, that night, Sherlock felt the night had gone quite well. John's obvious discomfort with the situation was promising. Was he jealous? More importantly, was he jealous enough to say something?

Even now, he could faintly hear John's bedsprings as he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. Sherlock and David had been just loud enough in their conversation to ensure that John could hear their voices, even through his closed bedroom door. Of course, David was in on the whole plan, had been the perfect choice really.

David had had quite the crush on Sherlock back at uni. Sherlock had, of course, done nothing to encourage him and nothing had ever happened between them. David obviously had the ulterior motive of trying to make Sherlock fall in love with him under the guise of making John jealous. It would never happen, but it would certainly make David's performance convincing. Contacting him and persuading him to act in this particular play had been ridiculously easy.

Ah, there it was, the sound he was waiting for. John's feet hitting the floor as he gave up and got out of bed. Any minute now he would stagger downstairs and switch on the kettle. Sherlock would give him a few minutes and then join him in the sitting room and maybe they could get this sorted tonight!

Hmm, some movements around in John's room, perhaps looking for his dressing gown? It was in the loo, hanging on the back of the door, as always. What was he doing? No matter, there were his footsteps on the stairs. Wait, he was continuing down, to the front door.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he heard the front door close behind John. He was leaving?

He was leaving!

Sherlock bolted out of bed and ran to the living room window, but John was nowhere in sight. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen!

He dashed up the stairs to John's room. Sighed in relief. All of his things were still there. He hadn't packed. Hadn't _left_. Just went out to get some air. Fair enough. It was John's go-to method of dealing with stress. John would go for a walk, sort through his feelings, and then come home. They could have this all put right by breakfast.

~0~0~0~0~0~

By three, John had had enough of tossing and turning in bed. His first thought was to get up and make a cuppa, but the thought of Sherlock possibly still being in the living room was unbearable. He knew David had left, had heard Sherlock walk him down to the door and a few moments of quiet (a goodnight kiss?), before the front door had closed and Sherlock had bound happily up the stairs. That had been just after midnight and John had done nothing since but imagine their goodnight kiss, and how they must have looked together when it had happened.

Was it a deep kiss? Full of longing and promise for their next date? And there would be another date, no doubt about that. He could hear them talking and laughing over dinner, never quite loud enough to hear exactly what they were saying, never quite loud enough to ask them to keep it down, but just loud enough to know that they were having a wonderful time together.

How could he possibly handle this? Could he live here and watch Sherlock fall in love with someone else? If he had ever believed that Sherlock could feel genuine affection for him, he was disabused of that notion now. Seeing who Sherlock was interested in, he now knew beyond any doubt that Sherlock was way out of his league.

Suddenly, 221B was the _last_ place he wanted to be. He quickly put his shoes on, grabbed the first jumper he lay hand to and yanked in on. He headed down the stairs as quietly as he could, snatched his jacket off the peg by the door, and he was out in the calming night air.

He didn't even make it to Regent's Park before the sleek black car pulled up alongside him. He sighed, still looking straight ahead. Had he really expected anything else? John leaving in the middle of the night, without Sherlock, obviously not dressed for an emergency at the surgery, no case for Lestrade, and Mycroft kept tabs on both Sherlock's and John's blogs so he would know there was no case there. Of course, Mycroft would want to know what the hell was going on. For that matter so did John.

Oh well, no use fighting it. John turned toward the car, opened the door and slid in next to Mycroft.

"Good evening...or morning rather, John."

"Let's skip the pleasantries, please, Mycroft. What do you want?"

"I am concerned, John. Is that so hard to believe? It is not normal for you to leave the flat at such an hour, and in such a state as this. What has my foolish brother done this time?"

"It's nothing, certainly none of your business."

"Has it anything to do with the gentleman who was here earlier this evening? An elegant individual, I have been lead to believe."

John sighed. Was there nothing that escaped this man's notice? Hell, Mycroft probably knew everything anyway.

"Does the name David Cavanaugh mean anything to you? He was Sherlock's _date_ tonight."

"_Date?"_ Mycroft looked positively alarmed, for all of a second. Then his face went nearly blank as he fit pieces together in his head.

"Ah. Yes. I see." Mycroft contemplated matters for several seconds. John had never seen him take so long to arrive at a conclusion.

Mycroft's brain was whirling. It was only too obvious to him what Sherlock was doing, John was simply too close to the situation to see it. Clearly Sherlock was trying to make John jealous, and David Cavanaugh was definitely suited to the job, given that Mycroft knew how David felt about Sherlock. However, he could easily see this blowing up in Sherlock's face if the defeated expression on John's countenance was any indication. Sherlock had chosen someone whom he believed would act the part well, he had not considered that John would be so intimidated by David's appearance. Sherlock probably hadn't even _noticed_ David's appearance he was so obviously enamoured of John. Why wouldn't these two idiots just talk to each other already? After everything they had already been through, it was evident that nothing was going to keep them apart, so why couldn't they just get _together_ already?

Mycroft knew he was going to have to tell John what Sherlock was up to. If he did this right, both John and Sherlock wouldn't be more than mildly irritated with each other, the air would be cleared, they could move forward (maybe even have a laugh about their own antics), and perhaps Mycroft could benefit as well.

When he had told Sherlock that he wasn't lonely, he hadn't been lying. During his busy days, there was no time for something so personal as being lonely. There was a reason he took so little time to himself to sleep and care for his own needs. He had a large well appointed flat, every luxury he could want, but it was empty, and he hated spending time there. As he got older, he was beginning to regret not engaging in at least a few personal pursuits. He could not commiserate with even his most trusted staff; they needed to see him as invincible and confident at all times, so that they could present a strong front as well.

There was one individual he felt he could talk to, and indeed to whom he had a debt of gratitude. Mycroft may have put Sherlock through rehab, but it was Gregory Lestrade who had called him when Sherlock had overdosed, saved his life, and continued to save him for years by challenging him to stay clean. Until John Watson had come along, Gregory Lestrade had been the fine line between Sherlock staying clean or being found dead in an alley somewhere.

Greg's divorce was several years old at this point, and recent CCTV images placed him at several venues that catered to the not-so-straight side of London. He hadn't been undercover, but nor had he pulled. Testing the waters, perhaps?

As necessary as his Ice Man persona was for his work, Mycroft knew it made him seem quite unapproachable. And if relationships weren't Sherlock's area, then Mycroft was even more of a fish out of water than his brother. As puerile as Sherlock's scheme was, Mycroft had to admit it had possibilities. John had obviously had a reaction to Sherlock's date, even if it wasn't the one he was hoping for. Any reaction at all would undoubtedly spur them to eventually make their confessions. Perhaps the same tactic could be employed in his case. Not to make Gregory jealous or course, but just to let him see that Mycroft wasn't as unavailable as he seemed.

Conclusions reached, Mycroft turned to John.

"I am sure you are aware, John, that emotional maturity is not Sherlock's strong point." At John's terse nod, Mycroft continued. "You know my brother cares for you deeply, he would never have gone to such lengths with his 'death' for anyone else. Your wedding, and all the events since have been quite hard on him, more so than you truly understand. It is my belief, after careful consideration, that Sherlock has no interest at all in David Cavanaugh, and is simply trying to provoke a reaction from you."

"What's that?" John sorted through Mycroft's speech at least three times. No, there was no other conclusion to be drawn. "He's trying to make me jealous? Why that…"

Mycroft watched as John's demeanor catapulted from depression to full blown anger in less than a half second. Oh,this would not do.

"Hear me out, John. What sort of experience do you really think Sherlock has with close, personal, _intimate_ relationships? Far less than you think, I guarantee. His only real exposure has been your girlfriends, your marriage, and whatever crap telly you and Mrs. Hudson have watched with him. Can you understand that his grasp on that particular reality is a trifle _skewed_?"

John seemed to calm down, a bit. He was clearly thinking through everything that Mycroft was telling him.

"The true issue here, John, isn't what my brother feels for you, but rather his inability to talk to you about it. Instead, he chooses an elaborate plan to manipulate you into doing what he wants. Sound familiar? Does Baskerville ring a bell? Falling from St. Bart's? Even his handling of the bomb-rigged train carriage under Parliament. All manipulations. If you go back, and talk to him about this now, it will simply teach him that these methods are effective in getting what he wants. I do not see where you have any alternative but to break this cycle or it will become the standard operating procedure at Baker Street."

"Oh God, you're right. You know I hate telling you that, Mycroft, but you are right, this time." He took a deep breath. "What can I do? You know I care for him too, or I wouldn't be here right now. I don't know if it could work or not, but you're right. We don't stand a chance if he can't learn to talk to me about something other than just cases."

Mycroft smiled.

"As it happens, John, I have a plan."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating, RL has been kicking my butt for the last couple of weeks. Hopefully I'll be able to post weekly through the end of the story.**

**A shoutout of thanks to my new Britpicker, Johnsarmylady. If you haven't read her stuff yet, go do it now!**

**Chapter 3**

Sherlock's eyes snapped open the moment he heard John's key in the front door. He had been gone more than two hours, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Sherlock had made sure that the door into the living room was open so that John could not fail to see him in his chair, fingers steepled, thinking. Still, he didn't want John to go straight up to his room, he was tired now, defences lowered, it would be an ideal time for this chat.

"John? Is everything alright?"

John stepped into the sitting room, looking tired, but relaxed, almost...happy? He never looked that way unless...he met someone. A cold feeling of dread settled into Sherlock's chest.

"Oh, hey, Sherlock. You couldn't sleep either, hmm? How did your date go?" John's tone was perfectly even, honestly curious. No, this wasn't right…

"It was, um, fine. Yes. Fine. Um." Sherlock cursed his sudden inability to speak. John was supposed to come home and demand that he stop seeing David, not be so calm and wanting to know how their date had gone. Where had John been? Why did he look so...fine? "Where did you get to?"

"Oh, you know, too tired to sleep. Went out for a walk, tried to settle down a bit. Busy day…" John allowed the faintest of smiles to cross his face. "Bit lucky really. Met up with someone, thinking about seeing them again."

Sherlock knew that there was no reason for there to be pain in the vicinity of his heart, but pain there was. No. He could not go through this again. He shook himself mentally. There was no reason to panic, he had broken up many of John's dates before. This one would be no different.

"You alright, Sherlock? You look a little peaky." John kept his expression lightly concerned.

"Yes, I'm, um. Fine." No doubt about it, he needed to escape and regroup. "I'm just heading to bed, now that you're back safely." That's it, let John know he was still a priority, that his safety was still important to Sherlock.

"Yeah, I'll be lying down now too. Think I can finally get to sleep now." John turned at headed up the stairs, a ghost of a smile on his face.

This was not good. Sherlock strode to his room with no thoughts of sleeping.

~0~0~0~0~0~

After a decent lie-in, John arose and headed down to grab a shower. He needed to be presentable for phase two of Mycroft's plan.

Hearing the concern in Sherlock's voice at how long he had been gone, and knowing that Sherlock had waited up for him had almost made him feel guilty enough to break his resolve. It was only by thinking of all the times Sherlock had manipulated him in order to achieve a specific reaction that he was able to keep with the programme.

_Play it cool, but don't act completely uncaring. Don't give any details about your upcoming date, _Mycroft had instructed him. _Just let me know the next time Lestrade calls you to a crime scene. _

John had wondered about the appropriateness of implementing the strategy in public, but Mycroft has assured him that everything would be timed well. John had no cause to doubt, knowing some of the schemes Mycroft had orchestrated over the years, his own brother's suicide being one.

He showered and shaved carefully, knowing Sherlock would notice the care he was taking with his appearance and attribute it to John's upcoming 'date'. He even applied a bit of lotion to his face and plucked a few hairs from his eyebrows, just to bait Sherlock that much more.

When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Sherlock was draped over the sofa. John felt his gaze roam over him and could almost hear the deductions already.

~0~0~0~0~0~

What was all this nonsense? Lotion on his face, a new razor, _plucking his eyebrows_? Who was he dating? The Queen? He hadn't spruced up this much before his _wedding_, for goodness sake! He couldn't break up this date fast enough…

The afternoon passed quickly; John's phone pinging occasionally, John looking at it, smiling, responding, then putting it back in his pocket. He hadn't set the damn thing down all day. Sherlock was racking his brain for a way to separate John from his phone in order to see what was making him smile..._that_ way.

He could spill tea all over John, but he didn't know if he could convince John to disrobe in front of him, plus he would still have to sneak the phone out and then there was the chance of actually burning John.

There was always the necrotic liver in the fridge. No chance of injury, but he should be disgusted enough to get his soiled trousers off fairly quickly. Hmm, possibilities there…

This time the pinging phone was Sherlock's. Aha! A case! No chance of John being able to go out on his date tonight! All those preparations wasted….poor John!

"John, a case! No time to lose!" Sherlock dashed off to his room to dress. John pulled out his phone.

_Greg, His Highness' phone is dying. Send me the address?_ -JW

_No problem, see you there._ -GL

John forwarded the text to Mycroft.

~0~0~0~0~0~

It was all John could do not to laugh when they arrived at the crime scene, a warehouse body dump. It wasn't so different from the warehouse where he had first met Mycroft. Perfect.

Sherlock was absolutely vibrating with excitement for this case, which honestly was maybe a four. There were _bloody footprints_ for Pete's sake. Even Anderson should be able to do something with those. And yet, there was Sherlock acting like he had just gotten an early birthday present.

John wondered how Mycroft was going to time his entrance. He'd assured John that nothing he was planning would interfere with the legitimate police work at the scene. John let his gaze roam out the window to the parking lot outside. Ah, CCTV. He was undoubtedly watching right now.

Finally, even Sherlock had to admit that this one was fairly straightforward.

"Really Geoff, why did you even call me for this? He was obviously murdered by the girlfriend since he had just reconciled with his wife. You're looking for an older woman, one who doubts her ability to attract a younger man again, and going by the bruising pattern was once instructed in martial arts, but not recently. Also, look for someone with medical experience as the cuts made to actually kill him after beating him up were quite efficient. We're done here. Come on, John, there's something I need to check at Bart's."

As they strode out of the warehouse, John nearly lost it, when, with perfect timing (they were still in full view of the crime scene), Mycroft's car pulled up directly in front of them.

As Mycroft stepped from the vehicle, Sherlock snapped, " What do _you_ want?"

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother's tone. "Contrary to your belief, my world does not necessarily revolve around you, Sherlock." Mycroft redirected his attention to John. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, quite. Looking forward to it." John stepped forward.

Sherlock put his arm out, preventing John from taking another step.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out with Mycroft, why? He picked me up last night, He was worried when I left the flat last night and we chatted for a while. He asked if I'd like to go for a drink tonight. Problem?"

"Yes, John told me of your renewed association with David Cavanaugh. Since you are seeing him, I thought that John might finally have a few nights free. So I asked him to accompany me this evening."

Sherlock's mind whirled. No. Mycroft couldn't be _serious_. John wouldn't be interested in _Mycroft_. But as John stepped around his still extended arm and slid into Mycroft's car, Sherlock had a moment of clarity. John was attracted to intelligence. And Mycroft was smarter than Sherlock. Oh God.

Sherlock made note of the fact that John did not move all the way over on the seat, so when Mycroft slid in next to him, their thighs were touching. The car pulled away, and Sherlock was still standing there with his mouth open slightly.

He must have stood there for some time, because the next thing he knew, Lestrade's voice came from over his shoulder.

"Did I just see John leave with Mycroft?"

"You have eyes, Gavin, even if you don't use them to observe anything."

"It's Greg. And where are they going?"

"Apparently out for drinks. On a date."

Greg choked. "On a what?" He ran a hand over his face. "I didn't think your...rather, I thought John was with _you_."

"You didn't think my _what_?" Sherlock queried, ignoring the second half of the sentence.

"Nothing, I just never pictured your brother dating anyone, least of all John."

"Why 'least of all John', what's the matter with _John_?"

"Nothing, it's just, well….I'm going to shut up now." Lestrade walked away, quickly.

Sherlock wandered back to the main road and hailed a cab back to Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

**So sorry people. RL just really needs to go away and lave me alone for a bit. I will TRY to get Chapter 5 up this week...**

**Chapter 4**

Sherlock lay on the sofa in his thinking pose. There were too many scenarios here to decide what to do.

Did Mycroft truly believe that Sherlock was interested in David Cavanaugh? If he did, then his interest in John could be genuine. Sherlock couldn't believe that he was the only person to see the worth in John Watson. Loyal, decisive, determined, trustworthy, what was there not to like? The near parade of women John had dated over the years knew what a catch he was; they simply hadn't been able to stand Sherlock. Mycroft, he knew, would have no such difficulty.

Even if Mycroft knew that Sherlock wasn't interested in David Cavanaugh, it did not necessarily mean that his interest in John wasn't genuine, see above reasons. If Mycroft suspected that Sherlock was using David to make John jealous, it would be a perfect time for Mycroft to express his interest. John obviously believed that David and Sherlock were a serious item, or he would not have been so upset that night. If John believed that Sherlock was spoken for, then he could easily decide to console himself elsewhere. Seeing as the male gender no longer seemed to pose a problem, and given his predilection for intelligence, Mycroft would certainly fit the bill.

Now two other considerations. Had Mycroft told John if he suspected Sherlock's interest in David was to make John jealous? If he had, then Sherlock had to admit that John was a better actor than he gave him credit for. Secondly, was John's apparent interest in Mycroft genuine? Mycroft's intelligence would certainly appeal to John, and, inexplicably, John was the one person in the world who had never seemed to be intimidated by his brother. If John knew about Sherlock's plot, and wasn't really dating Mycroft...even Sherlock had to grin ruefully. Talk about turnabout being fair play. He couldn't honestly be angry at John for employing his own tactic against him. But if _any_ of these potential relationships were genuine then he would have to tread carefully or he stood to lose John altogether.

This was why he didn't do relationships!

~0~0~0~0~0~

Greg sat in his favourite pub, nursing a pint, and ignoring the match on in the background.

He had no idea what to do with this new information. Knowing that Mycroft did have an interest in relationships made him giddy as hell. Thinking that Mycroft was interested in John made him ill. Especially if John returned that interest. Not that there was anything wrong with John, he was one of the few good guys. The kind of guy with whom he'd be happy to set up any of his friends, if he didn't work so much that he actually had any friends.

When he had first met Sherlock, he had been brought in on a possession charge. After hearing him deduce everyone he could see or hear at the station, Greg honestly wasn't sure if the possession was narcotic or demonic. When Mycroft had shown up to take charge of his brother, Greg had seen what that level of intelligence would look like without the influence of the drugs. It was the one time he was truly enraged with Sherlock for squandering his incredible potential. That was what spurred him to make the offer; clean drug screens in exchange for casework. Mycroft had sent him off to rehab with unmistakable hopelessness in his eyes, and Greg had seen the depth to which the man cared for his brother.

After the first month of casework, Sherlock had his first drug screen. And was clean. After the second month, clean as well. Slowly, Greg saw Mycroft relax and saw pride instead of concern in his demeanor whenever they met to discuss Sherlock's contributions at NSY.

Initially, Greg had thought that Mycroft was involved with his PA, who accompanied him everywhere. When he had asked Mycroft how long he and Anthea had been together, Mycroft's response had been a raised eyebrow and "She has been in my _employ _for three years now. There is nothing further to discuss in that regard." Greg had quickly surmised that, like Sherlock, relationships were not something Mycroft indulged in, or was willing to discuss.

When John Watson had arrived on the scene, suddenly Sherlock was just, different. Not any more polite or anything radical like that. Just different. Everyone who had any exposure to Sherlock, very quickly recognized that John Watson was important. They still cringed on the occasions when Sherlock showed up to a crime scene without John. Thing was, John had no idea the impact he had had on Sherlock, not having been acquainted with the pre-John version. It was apparent to everyone at the Yard that John was good for Sherlock and that Sherlock cared more for John than he did for the rest of humanity combined. Now, even if it had been a couple of weeks between cases, Greg no longer worried that Sherlock would relapse.

The speculations about the unlikely pair had started with the first case, the pink one, and had run rampant ever since. The betting pool had started up within a week, and there wasn't an officer in the yard who had ever met the two who hadn't bought into it. Everyone had to be in a tizzy since John had left the crime scene with Mycroft yesterday. Greg was certain that no one had taken _that_ bet!

Greg would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about Sherlock right now. No sense hoping to get a straight answer out of Sherlock, and he didn't quite have the bollocks to ask Mycroft if he thought his relationship with John would be bad for his brother. All kinds of not good there. Nothing for it.

_Hey mate, up for a pint? -GL_

The response came within 2 minutes.

_Sure, name the place. -JW_

_The Boar's Head, already here. -GL_

_Be there in 20. -JW _

~0~0~0~0~0~

John sighed. He really hated lying, he was terrible at it. He knew he couldn't get away with it with Sherlock, the man could practically read his mind. He'd had to actively avoid him this morning, especially with how late he got back to the flat last night. Lying to Greg wouldn't be fun either, but Mycroft had brought up the point that Sherlock could easily send Greg to find out if they were really dating or not.

His 'date' with Mycroft had actually not been too bad. They had gone to a rather upscale lounge for drinks and conversation. It was nice to be in an establishment where the music or telly wasn't blaring so loud that you had to yell all of your remarks in order to be heard.

Mycroft had regaled John with all sorts of stories about Sherlock as a child, and John almost wished he could have known him back then. He had to admit though, that as kids, they would have had nothing in common. Hell, he had a hard time understanding why Sherlock put up with him now. It broke his heart a bit to hear how solitary Sherlock was as a child, but it didn't really surprise him. How many friends would a four year old who was already memorizing scientific nomenclature for the entire plant kingdom have?

Afterward, they had stopped at a little sushi place that Mycroft knew and had continued their conversation there. John had told Mycroft about many of his experiences in Afghanistan. He had the feeling that for someone who pulled as many strings as Mycroft did, he didn't always have a clear picture of the realities of some of those decisions. Hearing what life was really like for those in the military and for those civilians that John had had contact with, he hoped, could provide a bit of perspective.

In point of fact, the only portion of the date which had been somewhat uncomfortable was the goodnight kiss. He hadn't been convinced it was necessary, but he knew Sherlock could easily watch through the living room window when Mycroft brought him home. So kiss Mycroft he had.

To his astonishment, he was sure it had been Mycroft's first kiss. Not that he ever pictured Mycroft dating, but there had to be someone at some point hadn't there? Apparently not. John had gotten out of the car and then leaned back in. Mycroft's lips had been stiff, and there had been almost a panicked feel to them. John had whispered "Myc, if you are going to convince him, you need to relax." It had worked, a bit, and a few minutes later, John headed up to 221B with the knowledge that Mycroft knew a bit more about kissing than he had before.

~0~0~0~0~0~

John sank into the chair across from Greg, a full pint already waiting for him.

"Alright, let the Spanish Inquisition begin."

Greg sighed. "John."

"Yes?"

"_Nobody_ expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

The two friends laughed and were grateful for the easy way to break the ice.

"Alright, spill it. What the hell? You and _Mycroft_?" Greg folded his arms across his chest and gave his best DI glare.

"Why is everyone so surprised?" John challenged back.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because we all thought you were with _Sherlock_?"

Time for some straight talking here.

"Greg, Sherlock Holmes is not, and has never been, my boyfriend. And it doesn't look like that is going to change." John heaved a sigh.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Greg asked, clearly puzzled.

"It means, quite simply, that he and I have never been an item. Before he...'died'...I was certain he didn't do relationships. But we were best mates. When he came back, well what was supposed to happen then? I was engaged! And we started off hardly talking. Of course, he wormed his back in, that's what he does. After everything happened with Mary, and the baby not being mine, I moved back. He's always been there for me, and I thought that maybe….but now he's seeing someone…"

Greg choked on his beer. "He's _what_?"

"Yeah, romantic candlelit dinner the other night. Him and some bloke David something-or-other. He's bloody gorgeous, you should see them together. No way Sherlock Holmes is interested in me, when he can have _that_."

Greg was completely stumped. He had no idea what to say. If Sherlock wasn't dating John Watson, he certainly couldn't picture him with anyone else. But then he thought Mycroft wasn't interested in any of that either. What the hell was going on with the Holmes'? More investigation was needed.

"So what about you and Mycroft?" Greg asked. His heart sank a bit as John's expression brightened.

"I went out for a walk after Sherlock's _date _and Mycroft picked me up in one of his bloody cars." He had to tread carefully here. "When I told him Sherlock was seeing someone, well, he seemed as surprised as everyone else. Said he hadn't realized that I was 'available' and asked me out right there." That was close enough to the truth. "You know I kind of have a thing for intelligence, and now Sherlock is off the market so I figured, why not? We actually had a really good time."

Greg was completely flummoxed. Mycroft had only stayed away from John because he thought he was spoken for? Now he really felt pathetic. Still, he and John weren't all that different. Maybe if he could patch things up between John and Sherlock, maybe there was a chance that Mycroft...who was he kidding?

"So what else you have going on tonight?" Greg asked.

John, checked his watch. "Mycroft wants to take me to some gallery that their family has supported. Built a wing or some such thing. He has some late meetings, so I don't know if we'll make it or not. Actually I should go get ready, he's supposed to pick me up in an hour or so."

"Alright, mate. Catch you later." Greg sat back to ponder their conversation after John left. Nothing for it. He'd wait til John was out on his date, and go have a chat with Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

This is a short one, sorry. Hoping to get most of the rest of this story done in the next two weeks, starting to panic because I am rapidly catching up to what I have completed so far!

**Chapter 5**

John puttered in the bathroom, 'getting ready for his date'. He hadn't had to avoid Sherlock hardly at all, the man barely looked at him. Knowing he was being deduced the whole time he was in here, he was going to make it count. If Sherlock was all that bothered by him going out with Mycroft, he could bloody well speak up.

Let's see, he'd done the lotion again, smoothed his eyebrows, shaved, ah, there we go. He got the box of condoms down out of the medicine cabinet and took two out, letting the packets crinkle slightly as he slipped them into his pocket. He stepped out into the sitting room and it was all he could do not to laugh at the shocked look on Sherlock's face.

"You're still lying on the sofa. You're going to grow roots if you don't watch it. Don't you and David have any plans for tonight?"

"Not as yet, no. Perhaps I should call him." Sherlock had expressed more interest in replicating experiments on mould cultures than he did in calling David.

"Perhaps you should." He couldn't believe he was able to get that out so casually. "Off out. Don't wait up." John beat a hasty retreat before he could give himself away.

Sherlock closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the flat without John in it. Now what was he going to do? He still didn't have any more information that he had before, except for the fact that John was definitely interested in _Mycroft_. How in the world had that happened? Somehow it had. He wished he hadn't watched out the sitting room window when Mycroft had brought John home last night. While he hadn't been at an ideal angle, it had been obvious that they were, in fact, kissing, and that it was no quick peck on the cheek. John had come up the stairs with quite the satisfied smile, said a very distracted goodnight, and headed up to his room. Sherlock had no idea if the vaguely masturbatory sounds he heard not long after were part of his imagination or not.

He honestly could not imagine being more miserable. Even if he were to speak up about David now, John was seeing someone. If John hadn't broken up with Mary when Sherlock came back, he wasn't going to break up with _Mycroft_ now. Especially after watching them snog in the car last night. There was no way John would have done that if he weren't genuinely attracted to Mycroft.

Sherlock tensed upon hearing the front door open, and footsteps coming up the stairs. Not John, nor Mycroft. That was a relief. Ah, Lestrade. Unfortunately, he didn't think even a case could distract him at this point.

There was a perfunctory knock at the door before Lestrade let himself in. One look at Sherlock molded to the couch was enough to make him glad he was here.

"You look like hell, mate," Greg intoned from the doorway. " Everything alright?" Greg strode in, turning to face Sherlock.

"No, Glenn, everything is most assuredly not alright. How could everything be alright when John is dating Mycroft? His girlfriends were bad enough, this is intolerable!" There, that should be disapproving enough of the relationship, without declaring his feelings for John, or worse, admitting the whole pathetic jealousy plot.

"Yeah, threw me for a bit of a loop there, too. Didn't know that Mycroft went in for the whole relationship 'thing'." Lestrade waved a hand, gesturing to the room at large.

"He doesn't, or rather, didn't, " Sherlock murmured thoughtfully. " It's odd, " Sherlock pondered aloud. "When I first came back, Mycroft claimed that he wasn't lonely. I asked him how would he know. He droned on at length about how he was so above the rest of us, said it was like living in a world of goldfish. Granted, there are few who are as intelligent, but maybe he would be interested in someone if they were intelligent _enough_... " Sherlock trailed off as he began to look over the DI speculatively.

"What's that then?" Greg in no way thought he was even close to being the intellectual equal of Mycroft. What did Sherlock mean by intelligent _enough_?

"What d'ya mean intelligent 'enough'? And what's this I hear that you're seeing someone? David? John said something about some romantic candle lit dinner."

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "David Cavanaugh. Immaterial, try not to get distracted."

Greg gaped at Sherlock's cavalier statement regarding his 'date'. He wouldn't act that way about a relationship unless it was….oh, Lord….

Thank heavens John's chair was right behind him. Greg sank into it with a pained laugh.

"Oh for heaven's sake, it's all an act isn't it? You're trying to make John jealous and it's backfired hasn't it? Now he thinks you're spoken for and he's moved on. Again."

Sherlock glared at Lestrade. Why did the man have to pick _now_ to be observant? Still, he could be a useful ally. Maybe if he could get his brother interested in someone besides John, this would still be salvageable.

"What are _you_ doing this evening, Garth?" Sherlock sat up and began to straighten his clothes, looking pointedly at Greg.

"_Greg_, and if you think _I'm _going to go out with you…."

"No, no, not with me. With Mycroft. Obviously." Sherlock huffed, exasperated. Why was everyone so slow? Goldfish indeed.

"Alright. Stop. Why don't you spell it out for me? And use small words, okay?" Greg had the feeling he was about to get swept up by Hurricane Sherlock.

"Listen, Gary. It is imperative that we get Mycroft interested in someone other than John. John and yourself have many things in common, similar backgrounds, and you both have something in common with Mycroft, me. It makes sense to let Mycroft know that you are interested in a relationship with him, and provided he isn't _truly_ interested in John, he'll break it off with him to start seeing you. Now were any of those words too long?"

"Whoa, who said I'm interested in your brother?"

Sherlock sighed. "Please. You haven't dated anyone since your divorce was finalized. You haven't even cast appreciative glances at anything female in ages. Anytime Mycroft is involved in any of our cases you take more care with your appearance. The ties you wear those days are always silk and perfectly knotted, rather than those polyester ropes you throw on on average days. You listen to everything he says with rapt attention, but avoid speaking yourself because you are self-conscious. Need I go on?"

Greg winced and scraped a hand along the back of his neck. "That obvious, am I?"

Sherlock grinned and winked, suddenly a little more at ease with the situation. "Did John say where they were going?"


	6. Chapter 6

**OK, ready for the angst?**

**Chapter 6**

The exhibition at the gallery wasn't as high brow as John had feared. There were cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, but the overall mood was fairly casual and relaxed. He and Mycroft had taken in some of the pieces on display and, surprisingly, agreed that the fuss over the assembled works was unwarranted.

One plus of the evening was being able to touch base with Mycroft about the progress of the situation without the chance of being overheard or leaving evidence in text messages.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I came out of the loo after he heard me put condoms in my pocket. He really has no idea what to think about us."

"Condoms, John? Oh that was cruel, but I must agree he deserves to stew a bit. He has put you through the the proverbial wringer emotionally so many times."

The two smirked at each other and chuckled, genuinely enjoying each other's company for a change. John looked up at Mycroft just in time to see the smile fall from his face.

"Oh, bugger. Tonight only needed _this._" John turned quickly to see Sherlock and Lestrade enter the gallery...only to be approached by David Cavanaugh.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Sherlock felt his stomach churn as he saw John and Mycroft across the gallery. They were standing far too close to each other, looking at each other and smiling. Was he too late? If they had already formed any kind of _attachment _to each other...he shuddered at the thought. It did not bear contemplating.

The ride over, even in Lestrade's police car, had seemed interminable, and yet not long enough. Sherlock had no experience in these matters, and had come up with plan after plan to separate John and Mycroft. He had considered everything from a fabricated case to pulling the fire alarm.

Greg grasped Sherlock's wrist to get his attention. "Why don't you just tell him how you feel?"

"Oh yes, Gordon, that is a wonderful idea. Barge in on his date, with my_ brother,_ not knowing how he feels about me, and try to break them up with a story about my feelings for _him_!" Sherlock glared at the DI menacingly. "Even to my understanding of social decorum, that would be unforgivably rude."

"Is it a story though? 'Fess up, Sherlock. You're in love with him. None of this would bother you so much if you weren't."

Sherlock took a deep breath to deliver some scathing retort, held it for a moment, and then appeared to collapse in upon himself. He looked out the window, unable to meet the other man's gaze while he answered.

"Of course I care for him. How could I not? He has always believed in me, even when he had no reason to. He has always put me first, before his work, his other friends, his girlfriends, even himself. When not another soul in the world had a kind word for me, he called me amazing. Brilliant. Fantastic. Tell me, Greg, did I ever stand a chance against him?"

Greg smiled. "Nope. And you got my name right, for once."

Sherlock smiled back. "I was bound to stumble on it sooner or later."

~0~0~0~0~0~

In the end, Sherlock and Greg decided to simply wing it. Get to the gallery, find John and Mycroft, and attempt a reasonable conversation. With stomach churning, heart in his throat, and his eyes on John, Sherlock strode forward…

...only to have David Cavanaugh fall into step beside him, place a hand on the small of his back, and act for all the world like he had arranged to meet him there.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock whispered furiously, leaning in toward David. Sherlock groaned internally. In trying to avoid causing a scene he had leaned rather close. To the casual onlooker, it would appear that they were kissing their hellos.

"Why, love, you don't seem pleased to see me. I knew your family was sponsoring this event and it would be unseemly for you to be unaccompanied…."

Sherlock quickly ran through the possibilities. John and Mycroft had been standing quite close when he had entered the gallery, and now, looking over David's shoulder, he could see that Mycroft had his arm around John's waist. John was leaning into him, listening as Mycroft directed his attention to one of the exhibits. They appeared to be completely relaxed with each other. Perhaps David could still be useful.

If Sherlock were to go storming up to them now, and this was a genuine _date_, both John and Mycroft would be quite irate with him for barging in on them. If there was truly nothing he could do, at least he would save face by not being here alone. If by some chance this was an orchestrated attempt to provoke a reaction from _him_, well, then he could still play out his game as well. A win-win situation, actually.

"Very well, follow my lead." Sherlock put on his most engaging smile and began to steer them towards Mycroft and John, leaving Lestrade to follow in their wake.

"Your plan doesn't seems to be working there, love," David murmured as he noted the couple they were approaching. "John seems rather smitten. And with Mycroft, no less."

"Shut up." Sherlock placed his arm around David's waist as they approached the other couple.

"Mycroft, I didn't realize you attended these affairs. John, enjoying yourself?" Sherlock's eyes were practically glued to John, intensely observing his reaction.

John moved in closer to Mycroft, leaning into him slightly. "Quite. Mycroft has been showing me around. I had no idea your family was so involved in the artistic community." Sherlock winced as John gazed up at Mycroft fondly, although Mycroft seemed somewhat ill at ease. Why would he...ah...Sherlock saw Mycroft's eyes dart fleetingly over to where the DI was standing. Yes. That explained so much!

"I wonder if I might borrow John for just a moment? And I believe Lestrade had something to discuss with you as well, brother."

Greg startled slightly, his hand twitching towards his tie, one of his polyester ones, in a nervous gesture. He stepped toward Mycroft while casting a glare at Sherlock over his shoulder. "Um, yeah. There was that one case…"

Sherlock moved toward John, frowning at David when he attempted to follow. David hung back, reluctantly, with what could only be described as a pout on his face.

Sherlock turned his attention completely to John. He kept his voice low enough to keep the conversation private, but urgent nonetheless.

"What are you doing here with Mycroft?" he hissed. "You can't possibly _actually_ be interested in him!"

"We are on a date, Sherlock! And why can't I be interested in him? He's intelligent, charming when he sets himself out to be, and he _asked!_" John took a deep breath. "Me being attracted to him is no more farfetched than you being interested in David!"

"Please! How could you possibly think I could be interested in David?" Sherlock snapped. He gave John an exceedingly pained expression. "Out of some 7 billion people on this planet , I can tolerate perhaps 3 of them. How could you think that one of them would be a pretentious arse like David?" He took a breath. If he was going to risk anything, it would have to be now. He placed both of his hands on John's upper arms. "There is only one person here I am interested in being with." He pinned John with a significant stare.

John gulped, visibly, then deflected. It wasn't enough, Sherlock had to stop manipulating and speak plainly. "B-Be that as it may, David is your date, and it looks like he is rather anxious to spend time with you, and mine…"

"Hasn't taken his eyes off of Lestrade since we got here. Can't you see, John? I may have been using Cavanaugh to make you jealous, but Mycroft was using you to do the same with Guy!"

"It's Greg, and what?" John spun to see Mycroft run his hand down Greg's arm, curling his long fingers in at his wrist, and gazing at Greg very intently. While John was aware of Sherlock's plot, him admitting it while appearing to be annoyed with John for not falling for it was just too much. Now finding out that there was _another_ plot in the works, again using him as a dupe, was _way_. _Too. Much._

The rage blooming on John's face was enough to have Sherlock stepping back, cringing at the vitriol about to spew forth. Did he truly care for Mycroft?

"How could...what…."John's color could best be described as puce as he struggled for words. Greg and Mycroft had both turned to look at him; Greg in confusion, and Mycroft losing what little color he had.

The damn finally burst.

"What is it with you Holmes'?" John managed to shout without raising his voice much above a whisper. "Is it too much to ask for a little honesty? Just once? Just one time would it be possible to take anything either of you say at face value? _You!"_ He stabbed a finger in Mycroft's direction. "You pick me up when I'm absolutely shattered, when I'm in no shape to question what you're saying. Tell me you have a plan to get _him_ to finally talk to me but all along you were just using me to get to Greg." Greg looked up at Mycroft, stunned. John continued his rant, nowhere near done. He jabbed a finger behind himself, pointing at Sherlock. "You know what Mycroft? Don't ever think you're any better or smarter than him, because you're not."

Now John turned his attention on Sherlock. "You have manipulated me since day one. You lie to me, experiment on me, try to drug me, hell, you made me believe you were dead for _two years_! It nearly killed me, that did. Do you know _why_ it nearly killed me? Because I thought you did it, killed yourself, because you thought I didn't believe in you. For two years I not only believed that you were dead, I believed it _was my fault_! But I forgave it all, because I got my wish, I got you back. But now when it's something so important, when it will affect the rest of our lives, could you just talk to me? Not play games, not have to be so damn clever. What makes you think you're any better than Mary?"

John pressed his lips shut, closed his eyes, and shook his head once, with finality. He wasn't done, not done by a long shot, but he flat out refused to say any more to either of them. He turned to David, still standing on the outskirts of the confrontation.

"You haven't lied to me yet. What are you doing tonight?" John asked in the most reasonable tone he could manage at the moment.

David grinned. "Whatever you are, apparently."

John strode past him, and David fell in alongside, throwing a smirk over his shoulder at Sherlock's stunned expression.

Greg cleared his throat to get Mycroft's attention.

"Is that true? You used John to make me jealous? Make me want to ask you out? You didn't talk to him, or to me, just set up some scheme?" He shook his head at the floor before looking back up at Mycroft. "I dealt with enough deception from the ex-wife, thanks. Don't really want to sign on for more of that." He turned and trailed after John and David.

Sherlock and Mycroft looked after them, then slowly met each other's gaze.

_What have we done?_


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry folks, RL has been an absolute chore lately. I'm a week late in updating, and it's a short chapter, but hopefully I will yet earn your forgiveness. I'm polishing Chapter 8, and it's a substantial one, but I'm hoping that will be ready to post in the next week.

**Chapter 7**

The three now dateless men sat together at the far end of the bar of some nameless pub. John and Greg were into their third pints, while David, the posh git, sipped on his second Talisker. There finally seemed to be enough social lubrication for the conversation to start.

"So," John paused to take a swallow out of his pint. "How did you get roped into all of this, David?"

David huffed out a rather pathetic laugh. "Knew Sherlock in uni. He was even prettier then. Had quite the crush on him, I did. Got about as far now as I did then." He took a small sip and winced at his own misery. "Absolutely nowhere. I always thought he was completely untouchable, until he called me last week. Knew he had it bad for someone when he asked me to pretend to date him. I mean, it could have been for some case, but he wanted dinner at home, not anywhere to be spying on anyone."

"You want to know the sad part, David?" John took another pull from his beer. "If he had just set that dinner up for me, hell, we'd probably have embarrassed Mrs. Hudson with all our carryings on."

David grinned. "Can't blame you there…"

Greg finally joined in the conversation. "How is it that you seem okay with all of this? Looks like you've been carrying a torch for him for years."

"Well I knew from the word go that I didn't really have a chance with him. Never seen him give anyone a second glance before, but everything had to be just perfect. It was almost cute watching him agonize over every detail."

"You want to know another sad thing?" Greg finished the dregs of his pint and signaled the barman for another. "I've been trying to work up the bollocks to talk to Mycroft for the better part of two years. If he'd so much as smiled at me in that time, well, things would sure be different now."

"Jesus, Greg, why didn't you talk to me? It's not like I haven't seen him often. Bugger picks me up off the street every couple of weeks it seems like." John waved to the barman as well. "Christ, if he had said anything to me about it when we cooked up the whole 'dating' thing, I wouldn't even be pissed at him. I'm just getting tired of being treated like I'm not worth talking to, only pushed into doing what they want." He shook his head. "I can't think of a single thing that Sherlock has lied to me about that I wouldn't have gone along with him on if he'd just told me about it first."

"So you would have duped me too?" Greg looked devastated as well as a bit drunk as the barman set fresh drinks down in front of the two of them.

"Nah," John waved off this ridiculous notion. "I'd have told you right off, just asked you to hold off til we were done jerking Sherlock's chain." He chuckled. "Although now that I think about it, maybe we could have cooked something up against him, like he and I did with Sherlock. Maybe set you up with David here…"

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Don't think I want to try to pull something over on the British Government. That would be sure to come back and bite us in the arse."

John bobbed his head in agreement. "Fair point. Plus Sherlock would be pissed at me for the cases we'd have to take from Mycroft as payback."

Conversation trailed off as they all sipped at their drinks. In the relative quiet, a ringtone could be heard. John felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out.

"Huh, Mycroft. I wonder why he thinks I'd talk to him right now." He tapped the 'ignore' icon and set the phone on the table only to have it ring again, immediately. He sighed and picked up his phone.

"Please John!" Mycroft implored him before he could say a word. "You are closer to Baker Street and can get there before any of my men…"

"What's going on, Mycroft?"

"He has disabled all my cameras, but there is still one microphone he hasn't found. It sounds like... please hurry, John. I'm truly afraid for him."

"On my way."

David arched a brow. "What? You're going? Just like that? After the crap he's pulled?"

"If it's another bullshit story, I can always kill him later." John dashed out of the pub with Greg on his heels.

~0~0~0~0~0~

Sherlock sat on the sofa with the coffee table pulled close to him, his kit open in front of him. He had gone to all three of his old dealers tonight and had scored from each of them. His combined haul was in front of him, as well as the largest syringe he could find at the flat. Fifty ccs at the concentration he was planning to mix would be enough to kill an elephant, or three.

There was no way John was coming back. He had truly fucked up. John was right, he was no better than Mary. There was nothing John had said earlier that was in anyway untrue. Nearly every interaction he had had with John over the years had some form of manipulation in it. It was what he had always hated about Mycroft, the constant need to control absolutely everything. He hadn't even realized what a hypocrite he had been all this time.

Had he ever let John have an honest to goodness reaction to something? Oh, the reactions were always honest, John couldn't be any other way, but he had always set the stage so that the honest reaction from John would be exactly what Sherlock wanted.

It was taking him ten times longer to mix things because he could hardly see for the tears streaming down his face. All the years of crying on cue for witnesses were nothing compared to the volume of liquid pouring out of him now. No worries, he'd be replacing at least 50 ccs of it shortly.

Finally, what was probably a 25% solution (or stronger) filled the syringe. He rolled up his sleeve and tied the tourniquet around his upper arm. He reached for the syringe….

"WHAT THE _HELL_ ARE YOU DOING?"

Sherlock fell off the edge of the sofa, banged his knees on the coffee table, and proceeded to the floor. He looked up to see a short, ash-blonde, wrathful angel swooping down on him. John reached toward him and he moved to lean into the touch….

...and John's hands reached past him to scoop the syringe, drugs, and the rest of his kit off the table. Only now did he register the staggering rush of Lestrade's footsteps up the stairs. He appeared in the doorway, gasping for breath.

John shoved all the miscellany into the carved wooden box and pressed it into Lestrade's hands, heedless of the man trying to catch his breath.

"Dispose of this, please." John pinned Sherlock with a glare, grabbed his arm, ascertained that there was no needle mark, released the tourniquet, and dropped him onto the sofa. He shoved the tourniquet into the box in Greg's hands and turned back to Sherlock. Never taking his eyes from Sherlock's, he pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Yeah. It's me. Yeah, it was what you thought, but I got him. We're going to have a little talk now. Kindly disable the last microphone." He ended the call without waiting for a response.

John turned to Greg, whose colour was slowly returning to normal. John gestured to the kit in Greg's hands.

"Why not take that to Mycroft? It seems you're due to have a little chat with him."

"It seems so." Greg descended the stairs with a great deal more dignity than he had come up them.

John turned back to face Sherlock. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at his flatmate, still sprawled on the sofa.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sherlock was stunned. Why was John here? Why would he care at this point what happened to him? His behaviour towards John in this, in everything for that matter, was deplorable, unforgivable, inexcusable.

Sherlock straightened himself to a sitting position and leaned forward sitting on the very edge of the sofa. He placed his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands. His long musician's fingers tangled in his hair and he pulled, hard, desperate to inflict _some_ form of pain upon himself. Slowly he loosed his fingers, and dared to glance up at John through his lashes.

John stood there, waiting, arms still crossed, looking like nothing short of a supernova was going to budge him. The expression on his face was stern, and managed to convey that this would be Sherlock's last chance to be completely and totally honest with John. There would be no other opportunity to attempt to make amends.

"John, I... "

"You need to stop right now and think. Think very carefully about what you want to say. As of right now, our relationship is going to change. How it changes is entirely up to you. I will no longer tolerate anything less than complete honesty. If I believe, for even a single moment, that you are being less than forthcoming, we are through. Now, what were you going to say?"


End file.
